


stardust baby, smile flower

by nakamoon



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamoon/pseuds/nakamoon
Summary: baekhyun loses half of his soul and his will to live; chanyeol is a ray of hope all over again.





	stardust baby, smile flower

**Author's Note:**

> 7k word vomit done in 3 days. 
> 
> huge thank you to [eann](https://twitter.com/peokkiemeokkie) and [sam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wukrisis) for beta-ing this. seriously, i'm shook at how fast and effectively you guys did this, thankyouthankyouthankyou, i love you guys so much.
> 
> hope you guys enjoy this :)

**stardust baby**

☆

-

Baekhyun's day starts in dreary agony. He supposes this matters little. It will end the same way as it starts.

He lays in bed, eyes staring upwards at the dark ceiling, face unmoving and blank. It’s two in the afternoon and he doesn’t want to get up; he won’t. It’s been months since he’s woken up earlier than noon. He’ll lay in bed for two more hours, his aching bones screaming for him to get up and move. Baekhyun will ignore this, Baekhyun will ignore everything that is not the sad, hollow heart that weakly beats inside of him.

This, along with the gnawing feeling of guilt that eats Baekhyun away, is the reason why being in bed like carcass is infinitely better. He wants to hurt himself, he wants to feel this pain.

He tosses around, his face hitting the pillow underneath him. From where he is, he can smell his own pungent odor as it reaches his nostrils. It sickens him, but not enough for him to do anything about it. Just another way to punish himself, he thinks.

When the clock strikes four, he feels a sharp pain of hunger. Baekhyun hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday’s breakfast (dry toast and expired orange juice, as always), and even then he hates the fact that he has to eat. To be hungry shows a will to live, as intrinsically as it may be.

He stands up for the first time in nearly 22 hours, the cracking of bones echo through the small, dimly lit room. The pantry is almost empty along with the refrigerator. He dreads the moment he’ll have to go out and buy more food. For one, his money is running out; with no work, he can see his savings dwindle little by little. He wouldn’t mind that so much, but monthly rent is also a struggle.

He can see his problems right in front of him, knows that they will hurt him more if he doesn’t do anything. Yet the funny thing is, Baekhyun will try to ignore them for as long as he can.

He grabs the last pouch of orange juice along with some crackers from the kitchen, and takes a seat in the only chair next to his run down table. There are slight scratches on it, a splotch of red paint in one corner. For a fraction of a second, Baekhyun’s lips lift up, his eyes softening as his heart lightens at the memory.

But then the demented knot in his throat comes back, choking him, asphyxiating him. The sobs well up and Baekhyun is in ruins yet again.

-

It’s days later when he really has run out of food. Tired limbs and throbbing head wake him up later than usual and Baekhyun somehow forces his own body to put on clean clothes to go out the door. It has been two weeks since he last left his apartment. He used to go out more often, even after everything that happened. But the person who said time heals everything is a filthy liar because it’s been more than a year and he’s still deteriorating, falling deeper into abysm.

As he goes out the front door, the landlady sees him, albeit a little too late.

“Baekhyun!” she yells after him, but her bones are frail and her movements slow. She has nothing on Baekhyun, who pointedly ignores her with fast strides. “You need to pay me! I’ll kick you out by the end of this month!” She yells out. Baekhyun doesn’t turn around. He may just be ignoring her, or maybe his head is somewhere else, somewhere where paying rent and eating are trivial and matter none.

He rounds the corner to Apgujeong Street, where he makes a beeline straight ahead, the cover of his hoodie covering half of his face, even if the sun is almost gone by now. To get to the nearest supermarket, a tiny place with dubious products and low prices, Baekhyun has to walk all across Bonjuk street. This is the part he hates the most. But then again, it’s Baekhyun and Baekhyun alone that decides this every now and then, precisely on Wednesdays.

His steps, full of purpose, end up slowing by time he gets to the last building of Bonjuk and the last corner he needs to turn before arriving to the supermarket. But he doesn’t turn it. No, instead, he zips up his hoodie completely and places the sweaty palms of his hands inside his pockets. The wind blows, making Baekhyun shiver but his steps are determined, although a bit shaky. He walks up to a window of the low building, half of it covered by a curtain, but he still manages to look inside without much trouble.

People sit in a circle in silence, listening as a woman in her mid-twenties talk. Her eyes are on the floor, and Baekhyun can see her shaking hands, but she keeps talking valiantly, never wavering or never crying.

Baekhyun wishes he could be like that.

He looks around at the other faces, most of them  young, never past 35, and mostly women. Some are solemn, some are calm, some are tearing up, but whatever their faces look like, Baekhyun feels infinitesimal compared to them. He’s a speck of dust next to them.

There are only two men amongst the circle of women. One is next to the trembling woman, one hand on her thigh, the other in her shoulder. Her support. Baekhyun takes a gulp of saliva, but when it goes down his throat it feels like pebbles, and maybe coming here was not a great idea. But he always says this, always comes back.

The other man sits right in the middle, his sad eyes looking at the woman in silence. He’s younger than everyone else, Baekhyun calculates maybe even younger than himself. Isn’t it sad? To find yourself in that position at such a young age.

It is then, between half muses, that he catches the eye of the stranger. He doesn’t smile or frown, just stares on, unblinking. Baekhyun feels exposed, wants to cry and get away and that’s exactly what he does before he has time to even think about it. His legs take off in fear towards the direction of his apartment, the groceries forgotten.

-

Baekhyun used to be lively once upon a time.

He used to be happy and light; he used to smile and talk and everyone told him how beautiful his chiming laugh was. He was too loving and too caring and perhaps that was a flaw, but one he could live with. He was loved in return and he thrived on it. Maybe Baekhyun simply loved too much.

If you were to look at the Byun Baekhyun from before, you'd see a star. A burning star, too bright, a firestorm of sparkles that could be stopped by very little.

It was once, and so very appropriate, that Baekhyun fell in love with another star.

-

It’s Wednesday again.

Baekhyun knows he’s stupid, he has always known so. He makes stupid decisions that he later regrets but yet keeps on doing them. It seems depression hasn’t taken that part of him, at least.

There’s a great part of him that wishes he were dead. However, there’s a smaller part of him that likes suffering even more, and nothing is more painful than the land of the living, where memories never fade. Especially when you’re stuck living in them, refusing to let go.

It goes just like last week: he takes steps full of faux confidence, as if he knew what he was doing. Today he arrives later than usual, purposely so. That way, today will not be the day he finally goes inside. He takes a peek into the window, and sees most of the usual faces, some are missing, some are new, but he sees the lady from last week. There’s also a newcomer, another man. He’s even shorter than Baekhyun himself, looks even younger. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been crying. A sharp pang shoots through Baekhyun but he suppresses it, he’s not here to feel the pain of others. The young man from last week is also there, Baekhyun notices. However, this time he doesn’t turn around to look at Baekhyun even once. But it seems too purposeful, too pointedly, which annoys Baekhyun for some reason.

He thinks he ought to leave - he really does. He wants to go back to his bed and cry and wallow. But today there’s a flame inside of him. Tinier than a candle’s, but it’s there, alive, and Baekhyun will protect it from his own cold self because it’s all he has left.

His steps are slow, but soon enough he stands outside the building’s door, creaky and old, and he opens it without much thought even though he sees his own hands shake. Once he’s in, everyone in the room has their eyes on him, with his flame is still lit and wavering against an unknown breeze.

“Hey, there,” a short, stout lady greets him softly, eyes sympathetic. Baekhyun doesn’t need sympathy, he doesn’t need more sadness. “You can take a seat here.” She points to an empty chair, next to this week’s newcomer. Baekhyun does as he is told, not uttering a hello nor offering a nod.

“My name’s Jangmi. My son’s name was Ilsung, and he was 7 years old when he died of neuroblastoma.”

Baekhyun’s spine chills. He doesn’t want this. He wants to go back, he regrets this. He’s stupid, he’s so stupid for coming here.

Everyone’s eyes are on him now, waiting. What do they expect him to say? Fuck them, he panics, fuck them and their heartless words and their mocking stares. His mouth hasn’t opened even once before he stands up, the scratching sound of the chair against the linoleum hard and painful. He’s standing up, ready to bolt from that hell, when a deep voice cuts through the silence.

“You don’t have to say anything. Please stay.”

Baekhyun turns to look at the man, the one who notices every time Baekhyun stands outside to take a peek. Baekhyun’s embarrassed; embarrassed enough to leave the place immediately and never come back. But the thing is, Baekhyun hasn’t even felt embarrassment in a long time. He hasn’t felt anything other than sadness and fear and guilt. It’s a first step and even this feeling is keeping his tiny flame afire. He nods at the other man before taking his seat back on his chair. “Okay.”

The next few minutes aren’t any easier. He has to listen to everyone else talk. He has to see their tears and listen to their stories. His eyes get stuck on the floor, not daring to look up. It could be worse though, he could be the one talking.

His first session is over in a few more minutes, and Baekhyun can feel himself breathe easier when Jangmin dismisses them with words of hope and an invitation to come over next week. Baekhyun is the first one to leave.

A cold gust of wind hits his face when he opens the door. It’s welcomed after the suffocating room he had just been in. Baekhyun leans against a car, finding that it’s too much for him. Isn’t it too soon?

 _Isn’t it too late_ , a voice inside him counters back, taunting him.

It is, he knows that. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to stop time. The temperature is dropping and soon enough snow will start falling. He better get back home.

“I was wondering if you’d ever go inside,” a familiar voice creeps up behind him. “I’m glad you did.”

Baekhyun turns around to face the other man, not saying anything, just staring back at him. Very much like the way he stares at Baekhyun when he peeks through the window every other Wednesday.

He stares back for a moment, his eyes gazing over Baekhyun’s face. There’s a small smile on his lips before he speaks up again, offering his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Baekhyun hasn’t met anyone in the past few months. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to start getting comfortable with anyone now. He takes the offered hand with a weak handshake. “Hello.” His voice cracks.

It may be rude of him, but Baekhyun turns around, ready to start the trek back home. He walks slowly though, he thinks the other man isn’t done introducing himself.

“I’m Chanyeol. My daughter’s name was Nana. She died of Gaucher Disease when she was four years old.”

Baekhyun stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t want to hear it. Who does this man think he is? He’ll walk away, he really will, he won’t--

“You can just tell me your name,” Chanyeol adds softly, walking up next to him, letting a warm hand rest on Baekhyun’s shoulder. He wants to shake it off, but he doesn’t, as if  it were glued to his body - there’s no point.

Relenting, he decides he’ll offer his name. His own name doesn't matter. His name is nothing compared to the rest of what he cannot say, does not want to say. “I’m Baekhyun.”

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol repeats, following the shorter man down the empty street. “That’s a pretty name. White, pure, good... worthy. That’s what it means, right?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at the mere mention of the meaning of his name and the audacity of this man. “Doesn’t Chanyeol mean _fruit?_ ”

Chanyeol gives a short laugh, still next to Baekhyun. His cheeks and nose seem to flush from the cold, just as the wind blows harsher. “It’s a very unique name, I’ll have you know.”

Baekhyun turns around, effectively stopping Chanyeol on his tracks. “Well, Fruit, say congratulations to your parents on my behalf. I need to get going. Thanks for following me around like, well you know, a creep.”

Chanyeol looks down at him, his smile undeterred. Instead, the apples of his cheeks get full and his white teeth show itself even more. It should look out of place, it _definitely_ should feel out of place and Baekhyun should be bothered, but Chanyeol’s smile is not mocking, is not at him, it’s _with_ him, that much he can tell at least. It’s done with such beauty, that Baekhyun can’t help but look back softly, defeated.

“Will you come back next week? Please tell me you will,” Chanyeol says before Baekhyun leaves.

Baekhyun doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to hear any more sad stories of dead children, he doesn’t want anymore tears and he doesn’t know how this is supposed to help him in the least. He doesn’t want to because then it’s one step closer to saying her name.

“I will.”

-

He’s there next Wednesday.

This time he gets there on time, six o’clock on the dot, but only to tell Jangmi that he won’t talk this time around either. She reassures him with a pat on the back and says it’s fine; that he’ll be able to talk whenever he wants to, at his own pace. Baekhyun nods but tells himself that that day won’t come.

The room fills in the first five minutes. There are thirteen people, Baekhyun counts. Nine women, four men including himself and Chanyeol. Chanyeol comes in a little before the door closes, giving him a small smile with a thumbs up, and takes the seat next to him. Baekhyun doesn’t want to be under Chanyeol’s scrutiny or stares, he can _feel_ when the other man eyes him. But it’s also, in a twisted way, comforting to know someone’s watching, someone cares-- even if that someone is a stranger.

At ten after six, it starts.

“My name’s Jiyeon. My daughter was named Lia and she died of tuberculosis at the age of five.”

“My name’s Kyung Hwa. My son’s name was Hyung Gi and he died of Krabbe disease when he was 11 years old.”

“My name’s Minseok. My son’s name was--” the man’s voice hitches. Baekhyun remembers him as the newcomer from last week. “My name’s Minseok. My son’s name was Lu Liang. He died in a car accident when he was six.”

Baekhyun wants nothing other than to cover his ears. Each word is like a stab to his heart, a painful reminder of the purest love he shared, only to be taken from him. He wonders if standing up and just leaving would be rude. It would be, he’s nearly done it before. But isn't this what he wants? To suffer with painful reminders, until the burn hurts no more. Or maybe until he is assured the burn is eternal. He doesn't know which one is worse.

“My name is Mina. My son's name was Seunghyun. He died of a lung disease when he was nine.”

“My name's Soonkyu. My daughter's name was Hayi. She died of Kidney cancer.”

“I’m Chanyeol. My daughter’s name was Nana. She died of Gaucher Disease when she was four years old.”

Baekhyun stands up again, this time he tries not to make much noise, not wanting to make a scene. These people came here to heal, it's not their fault he's a coward. But he can't stay here either, he thought he'd be able to handle it, but he's weak. His eyes are stuck to the floor, feeling shame for not being able to stay here for the whole hour. He curses the squeak of his shoes as he walks, feeling like a petulant child that can't finish a simple task.

It's okay. He gets to be a petulant child because his isn't here anymore.

Baekhyun reaches for the doorknob, yet before he can make contact, someone else grabs it and pulls with a swift motion. He looks up and sees a smile. Again, it's not the place. Baekhyun doesn't want to see a smile. He truly wants to punch him, he can't bring himself to do it.

“C’mon, I know a great ice cream place,” Chanyeol hums, taking Baekhyun by the wrist and pulling him along. They leave the meeting and everyone else behind.

They're at the same place they were last week, behind the parked cars on Bonjuk Street. The sun is still up, though it won’t hold for much longer as the day nears its end. They’ve stopped walking, but Chanyeol is still holding onto Baekhyun's wrist, who decides to keep it there for now, since warmth is essential.

“It's not far off, we can get there walking,” Chanyeol starts, not waiting for an answer. Baekhyun won't give him one either way. It's not like he willingly chose to be out and about with Chanyeol. But this is better than being trapped in a room with asphyxiating words and choking sobs. Infinitely better.

He squeezes Chanyeol's wrist back. To reassure the other or himself?

Chanyeol doesn't look at him, but Baekhyun understands that the soft smile on his lips is aimed at him.

“ _So,_ do you have a partner, Byun Baekhyun?” Chanyeol asks amicably as they make their slow way to get ice cream. Baekhyun already knows what he’ll order: double mint chocolate chip.

“A partner?” Baekhyun asks incredulous, standing up a little straighter, “like a boyfriend or something?”

“Or girlfriend. Husband. Wife,” the taller of the two replies. Baekhyun can see from here, with the light of the sunset’s orange hues reflecting on Chanyeol, how his features are truly beautiful. In contrast to his body, his height, his voice, Chanyeol's face is rather feminine. With twinkling eyes, pink lips and gentle nose, Baekhyun admits to himself that Chanyeol is handsome.

“I’m divorced,” he says with finality.

“Oh.” Chanyeol looks surprised, turning to him for a fleeting second then turning away. “Me too. A husband.”

“Really?” Baekhyun hums, suddenly not knowing how to feel about his and Chanyeol’s entangled hands. They walk at a slow pace, their feet playing a soft beat against the cobblestone street.

“It’s not surprising, I suppose,” the other man starts, pondering aloud, “twenty to thirty percent of couples who lose a child end up divorcing.”

Baekhyun wonders how Chanyeol can say it so casually, so freely; he wonders if he’ll ever be like that, if he even wants to be like that.

“ _But,_ ” he continues, “and this is just my theory, mind you, most of us don’t divorce because we’re not in love anymore. For some, the memories just may be too painful.”

Baekhyun can relate to that, he’s stuck in a life of memories, like weight on his feet while he tries to stay afloat on the rapids of a deathly river. He looks back to look at Chanyeol, who still only looks on serenely at the moving cars and musky buildings. “Do you still love them, then? Your ex-husband, I mean.”

Chanyeol startles at the question, his eyes wide for a short moment of incredulity at Baekhyun’s bravado. He looks back at him, never stopping their walk. There’s a short pause before he speaks up, his deep voice rumbling, “It may seem weird to you, I know everyone else thinks so. But. I do.”

Baekhyun feels a pang of sadness for Chanyeol and thinks that maybe, he’s not so alone in this world. That maybe someone out there can understand what Baekhyun is going through; that someone has felt the same loss as he has, deeper than artificial condolences and tears. He realizes that this is the first time in a long, long time, that he thinks of someone else’s pain besides his own. It makes him sick, it makes him feel guilty how someone - how he - can manage to be so self-centered.

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving my husband either,” he realizes. But is it a sudden realization? Baekhyun wants to bitterly laugh at himself, because it’s not sudden. He’s known, and he’d known even as he signed the divorce papers. Maybe it was just twisting the knife deeper, maybe it was Baekhyun putting pain before love. It’s too late now, though, he’s made his choices and he’s got to live with them.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Chanyeol looks at him. “Don’t think of life as a regret or as a mistake, Baekhyun. That’s not the way to live.”

“You seem to be awfully good at living,” Baekhyun grumbles with a tinge of resentment that Chanyeol probably notices, if the pat on his shoulder is anything to go by.

“I’m not,” he states plainly. They take a turn at the end of the street and Baekhyun can see from where they are is a small, colorful stand where a man sits alone, taking care of his merchandise. “I don’t know what I’m doing, if I’m honest. I have no clue but I try to get by.” He smiles softly.

This time, he’s the one that drags Chanyeol to the ice cream stand. He can’t stand seeing Chanyeol smiling so naturally. It’s a reminder of how much of a mess Baekhyun is. In a way, Chanyeol is everything Baekhyun ought to be. If they were a mirror, Chanyeol would be the perfect reflection, the example. Baekhyun would be the distorted image, the one no one wants to look at.

“What do you want? I’ll pay,” Baekhyun says, not looking up at his company, deciding that the menu hung up on the wall is seemingly more interesting than Chanyeol’s curious face and growing smirk.

“Double chocolate fudge with sprinkles.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, because of course Chanyeol’s the type to like double chocolate.

“Double mint chocolate chip and Double chocolate fudge, please,” Baekhyun tells the man who promptly gets the cones. When was the last time Baekhyun had ice cream? When was the last time Baekhyun went out to buy something that were not the basic groceries every two weeks, sometimes even three.

“ _With sprinkles,_ ” Chanyeol butts in with a grin. Baekhyun waves him away, a smile threatening to bubble up, “With sprinkles,” he says to the man.

Baekhyun pays for their ice cream and they make their way to a dried up fountain. It has cracks all over the place and no water, but Baekhyun figures out that it’s a perfect place for them.

“I have a very important question to ask you, Byun Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says with mustered seriousness. Baekhyun can’t take him seriously. Not while his lower face is covered in rainbow sprinkles.

“What is it?” Baekhyun turns to his ice cream and gives it a huge lick. There’s a burst of flavors he didn’t know he missed.

“What’s your favorite color?”

-

For once, Baekhyun meets Chanyeol while the sun is at its highest.

This has been the sixth time in a month that he's gone out there with him like this. Chanyeol called it a date last time. Baekhyun calls them a ‘way to not suffocate in his own misery’.

Still, he could say no to Chanyeol. He could just decline all offers to go out at all. And there are times where all he wants to do is stay at home, to hide under the covers for hours and then feel guilty for the rest of the day. But he knows that, even if it's a few hours, or even if he doesn't talk much, being out with Chanyeol is healthier. Perhaps healing is not a bad idea.

“So Jongdae has this obsession with singing, you know?” Chanyeol laughs amid narration, “but I guess he's good, so I let him be cocky for the sake of it.” They sit on a table inside a small bistro near downtown. Chanyeol has spaghetti carbonara in front of him, with almost all of it gone. Baekhyun’s modest egg sandwich is barely bitten, but he’s on his second mango smoothie, so he feels better than he’s been in days. Chanyeol looks up at him, head slightly sideways. “Do you like to sing, Baekhyun?”

There’s a hazy feeling inside of him. Baekhyun loved singing. Baekhyun used to sing _for a living_ at a theatre company before it all went down. He hasn’t sang in over a year. “A little,” he gulps downs his drink and it hurts his throat, “but I’m not very good at it.”

Chanyeol dismisses him with a wave, “Please, I bet you’re the best. I can tell by your face. The face of a singer.”

“What about you?” he raises an eyebrow. “Do _you_ sing?”

“I don’t actually,” Chanyeol flushes, “but I play the guitar.”

“My ex-husband used to play the guitar too,” Baekhyun blurts out before he can stop himself. Chanyeol stares at him for a moment and now it’s Baekhyun’s turn to blush. He takes a bite from his sandwich and looks away.

“Impressive,” Chanyeol replies slowly. “ _But_ , does he also play the drums? And the piano?” he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Are you a musician or something?” Baekhyun asks instead, “where do you work at?”

“I’m a producer,” he smiles proudly. “I work for a company and I help them make songs.”

“Sounds fancy,” he replies with a smile. “Sounds like you enjoy it.”

“I do, it’s one of my favorite things in the world. Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” he pauses. “Almost anything.”

Baekhyun doesn’t want to ask him what he _would_ trade it for. “You look like you’re good at it. The face of a musician,” he says instead.

Chanyeol gleams under the praise. Baekhyun ought to tell him he looks silly. But he’s learned that Chanyeol looks perpetually silly in the finest of ways.

-

One time Baekhyun fell in love with a star.

Baekhyun had never met any other star besides himself. The other star, bright and pure and lovely, could not do anything else but fall in love with Baekhyun as well.

Stellar collision, they call it. When two stars merge together through the force of gravity. Together, they make a better, bigger, prettier star.

-

It’s been three months since he started going to the sessions at Bonjuk street. He’s getting better at them. Some weeks he goes, some others he can’t even fathom the idea of going. But he’s getting better. He still hasn’t said his introduction, he refuses to do so, especially in front of strangers. But he goes and listens and sometimes he cries with the other parents and even manages to hug them. Some people come and go, some others have stayed for as long as Baekhyun has, others never come back.

Chanyeol always comes back. Baekhyun figures that Chanyeol doesn’t need it as much anymore, that he could probably do well on his own. Yet he’s still there every week, reassuring Baekhyun with squeezes and small smiles that he is eternally grateful for.

It’s also been three months since Baekhyun befriended Chanyeol. They go out at least once a week. He thinks that these outings help him a lot more than the sessions.

He’s still weak though, he’s still frail and he’s still a coward.

Today is Wednesday and he feels the already dying life inside of him dwindle even more. He feels the small flame inside him wither. He feels like a wreck; he’s weak and he’s been sobbing all morning. The blackened heart inside him refuses to beat anymore and Baekhyun doesn’t ask it to do so. Today of all days he feels like a mess because today is the anniversary of his daughter’s death.

He remembers her frail, little fingers, chubby and full of life, reaching for him, needing him, loving him. He remembers her gummy smile, always staring up at him adoringly. When she was a baby, she hardly cried, always smiling, always shining, always like her dad.

She was his little star and she got taken away from him. Life’s cruel ways took her away, effectively tearing a piece of Baekhyun’s soul. He screamed that day, he yelled and cried and prayed to whoever was listening to please take him away instead, to leave his baby girl alone. But there was no answer, no answer but the echoes of his own screams in the hospital hallways. He sobbed when no one answered, he was brought to his knees when life turned away from him, from his family.

He is not sure if today hurts any less than two years ago.

By now she would’ve been five, almost six in a couple of weeks. She would’ve started school and maybe have made some friends. He’s sure she would’ve had lots of friends.

He won’t go to his weekly session today. He’ll stay in bed and hate himself like he’s grown accustomed to.

But somewhere inside him he knows that he doesn’t have to do this alone. That someone out there understands him, that someone cares and even though Baekhyun wants to be alone-- he doesn’t.

He sends a simple message to Chanyeol: _pls be here._ And he hopes Chanyeol understands, hopes that he knows Baekhyun needs him, that he doesn’t want to be by himself.

He doesn’t get an answer back. Even if he does get one, Baekhyun won't know since he tossed the cellphone away, eyes on the ceiling.

The wait isn’t long, however, there’s a knock on the door. Before Baekhyun can stand up from the couch and open, Chanyeol bursts in, face etched with worry. He looks around the small, grimy place Baekhyun calls home before his eyes find the shorter man.

Baekhyun almost feels embarrassment from Chanyeol finding him like this; unwashed, in pajamas, tousled hair and red eyes, cheeks tear stained and watery trails of mucus. Chanyeol instantly goes to him and embraces him, and Baekhyun knows this is why he doesn’t bother being embarrassed. Chanyeol is too lovely, too good to care about that.

Baekhyun hugs back with all his might, he holds onto Chanyeol because he doesn’t want to fall, not again.

“It’s her anniversary, Yeol,” he sobs into his neck. He can feel Chanyeol’s warm hand rubbing his back and he feels a little bit more calm, as if Chanyeol’s hands were a safety net. He fits here, Baekhyun thinks, he fits with Chanyeol and it’s a fucked up time to think this, but Chanyeol’s warmth and gangly limbs feel like home.

“It’s alright Baekhyun,” Chanyeol whispers, his voice trembling as he sees the mighty Byun Baekhyun crumble in front of him. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“But she’s not,” Baekhyun hiccups. If she’s not, then what’s the point. His voice strains and the tears keep coming up, slower, in soft, sad rivulets across his face. Chanyeol squeezes tighter until Baekhyun can feel himself drift off in sleep, tired. Chanyeol sees that the tears don’t stop even as he falls asleep. He sighs, still not letting go. He’ll never let go.

-

Baekhyun wakes up without aching muscles or without tired bones for once. He feels weary with irritated eyes, but still, there’s something in his body that feels right. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He stands up from his warm bed, one he doesn’t remember falling asleep in. Chanyeol must’ve placed him there and Baekhyun wonders if he also slept next to him; the crumpled bedsheets on the other side of the bed might agree.

He stands up and makes his way towards the small kitchenette just outside the bedroom.

The delicious aroma of pancakes and eggs brings a smile on his face. “Hello, Park Chanyeol, master chef,” he greets. The volume of his voice, loud and boisterous, surprises him. He misses the sound of his own voice, he realizes, and the fact that he hasn’t been his loud self in months and months fills him with a feeling of nostalgia. Nostalgia for himself.

Chanyeol startles and looks up from the stove. “Good morning,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the sight of a well-rested Baekhyun. Then he adds, sheepishly, pan still in hands, “I took the right side of your bed, hope that’s ok.”

“No problem,” Baekhyun adds more softly, walking up to him.

Baekhyun knows two things. Chanyeol helps him take a glimpse at the future. A future that doesn’t seem too bleak, a future where Baekhyun wants to live. But he also reminds him of the past. A good past. Somehow, that’s all he needs.

-

It’s on a Friday night where things go awry. It was a matter of time, Baekhyun supposes. It’s only in his nature to ceaselessly construe notions of misery, him believing each and every one of them.

He sits on the same couch as always, but this time it’s different. This time the couch is livelier, the usual paleish red is brighter, looking and feeling more like spring than anything. His small apartment is filled with sounds of television in the background, but the loudest sound, the prettiest sound, comes from next to Baekhyun.

“Oh, I love this part,” Chanyeol munches on popcorn, eyes never leaving the screen, a tale of space and betrayal playing in front of them. Baekhyun has seen this movie a million times, Chanyeol has as well; it doesn’t deter them from enjoying it all the same. At least it doesn’t deter Baekhyun from admiring Chanyeol’s dumb smile and _special Chanyeol effects._

It’s not until the movie ends, however, that Baekhyun notices his and Chanyeol’s legs tangled up under the fleece blanket that’s supposed to keep them warm. There’s something nagging at his mind though, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time, yet it’s a familiar feeling all the same and Baekhyun is confused, his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways.

Chanyeol seems to sense this, as he turns around with the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “How are you feeling?”

Baekhyun stares down at his hands, biting his lip until it turns white. “How do you do it, Chanyeol?”

The other man furrows his brows in confusion, hand instantly going to reach for Baekhyun. “What do you mean, Baekhyun?”

“How do you manage to be so happy?” he finally asks, voice still soft, defeated, tired. But he truly wants to understand Chanyeol, maybe he ought to be more like him. “How do you manage to be so happy despite everything that’s happened to you?”

Chanyeol sighs, still looking at him, “I’m not stronger than you or anything Baekhyun, I’m not better. Don’t ever think that way. You can do it too.”

“But how?” he whispers. He feels bad for ruining the mood, he’s gotten better, he swears, but Chanyeol...how does he manage, how is he so--

“You got to look for the beauty in everything, Baekhyun.” he says into the silence.

The words sit on Baekhyun’s brain, seeping into its core. He waits, trying to make sense of what Chanyeol has just said. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t make sense and it’s all bullshit.

He turns to look at his friend, “What the fuck? The _beauty_ in everything?” he asks incredulous, pulse quickening, voice no longer a whisper. “How _dare_ you say there’s beauty in my daughter’s death? How dare you say that to my face?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Chanyeol says back forcefully, “You know that’s not what I meant--”

“Then tell me what you meant! Tell me the secret to live happily ever after, Park Chanyeol. Tell me how to forget all the pain that I feel inside, tell me how to stop caring.” he yells, he can feel the tears threatening to fall down.

“ _Fuck you_ , Baekhyun,” Chanyeol spits back, his voice hoarse, on the edge of breaking as well. He stands up, hovering over the still sitting Baekhyun. “Fuck you a million times if you think I don’t care.” he breaks down. Baekhyun is still burning with anger, but he can’t help a pang of guilt at seeing the fast blob of tears bubbling up from the other man.

“Do you think I forget? Do you think I’m happy all the time? Because I’m not, you insensitive bastard,” he yells, “I think of my child every time I see someone else’s kid running around. Because they’re alive and mine is not! Because I miss her so much it physically hurts me.”

“I could just take the wrong path, I could just live and wallow in misery like you, Baekhyun, but I don’t.” he continues. “And I’m doing it for her. All my smiles, all my laughter, all the love I still have left, it’s all for her. I live for her because she deserves at least that.”

He walks towards the door, tears still not stopping, voice finally no more than a whisper, “Because I know she’s somewhere watching. And I don’t want my Nana seeing me cry.”

Chanyeol leaves in abrupt silence. Baekhyun looks at the space he has left behind. His mind is whirring, his heart is all over the place. He hates Chanyeol for saying those words. He also hates himself for thinking the worst of Chanyeol. But most of all, he hates being alone.

He can’t let the one piece of his heart still untouched break.

-

Supernova, the explosion of a star-- the largest explosion that takes place in space.

 

-

Baekhyun stands outside a white picket fence house. He looks at it with envy because that’s the house everyone dreams of when they’re little.

The sole of his shoes scruff the pavement in nervousness, he can feel his hands sweat. Somehow this reminds him when he was outside the Bonjuk building a few months ago. Just like that time, he is scared, just like that time, his feet are stuck to the ground. But he reminds himself of Chanyeol’s face that night, how beautiful and good it was meeting him.

So this time, he is scared, but he’s also sure of what he wants. He wants Chanyeol and he wants a future.

With one last breath he surges forward, his legs taking him to the entrance, his knuckles knocking on the door without a second thought. One second, two seconds. No answer. Four seconds, five seconds. No answer. Six seconds, seven seconds. No answer. Eight sec--

“Coming!” A deep voice calls from the inside. Baekhyun lets out a sigh of relief. Before he can think much about it, the white door opens, revealing a disheveled Chanyeol. His hair askew and his pajamas long and big, even for him. Baekhyun suppresses a fond smile at him.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol greets, surprised at seeing him out of the blue. It’s been almost two weeks since they last saw each other, since Chanyeol left Baekhyun’s house in anger. No one had contacted the other, Baekhyun is the one to take the first step. He needed to, Baekhyun says to himself. It’s his turn to make something right.

“Can I come in?” Baekhyun says shyly. Chanyeol doesn’t seem angry or bothered, that’s a good sign.

“Sure.” Chanyeol scratches his neck. “Sorry it’s a bit unkempt.” Baekhyun gives him a reassuring smile, he almost rolls his eyes, of course he wouldn’t care.

He walks through a narrow corridor with slick wooden panel floor and white walls. It really is a beautiful house. The living room, just like Chanyeol mentioned, looks messy, untidy, but not in a bad way. It seems fitting, it seems homey, it feels like Chanyeol and-- something else.

He looks around the place, looking at the pictures surrounding the room. They’re all so happy, so vivid, so colorful. In contrast to Baekhyun’s gloomy place, he knows how Chanyeol can keep himself smiling: he surrounds himself with love.

Chanyeol takes a seat on one of the green couches, wavering eyes never leaving the smaller man. He’s been too silent, Baekhyun thinks, but follows him and takes the seat next to him.

“Baek.” Chanyeol starts, sad eyes burning holes on him.

“I understand,” he interrupts, “I _understand you_ and _\--_ I don’t want to be sad anymore, Chanyeol.” he looks down at his lap, then turns to face him.

Chanyeol shakes his head, and replies softly. “You can be sad, Byun Baekhyun. You’re allowed to be sad. But you’re also allowed to feel happiness, you’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to be happy as well.”

“I want to be happy with you.”

He returns Baekhyun’s gaze with the ghost of a smile. Chanyeol doesn’t reply, instead, he stands up and walks up to a small table next to the couch left alone. Baekhyun follows his movements until his eyes fall upon a piece of paper. Chanyeol opens it and reads to himself with a smile before speaking up.

“Before my divorce,” he starts softly, before clearing his throat, hair still floppily falling to the side, “Just before we signed the papers, my ex-husband said to me, Baekhyun--”

Baekhyun looks at Chanyeol, then back to the dozens of happy family pictures hanged up all over the wall.

“If we ever meet again, let’s meet as strangers and fall in love with each other all over again.”

Chanyeol walks back, just in front of him. Baekhyun has no other option but to stand up as well, facing each other. The silence in the room, the house, is deafening.

“I’m Chanyeol. My daughter’s name was Nana. She died of Gaucher Disease when she was 4 years old.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. He can’t, he can’t.

“Say it, Baekhyun.” Chanyeol whispers.

“No.” he replies softly, a prickling sensation on his eyes. “I’m sorry."

“Baek.” Chanyeol’s voice doesn’t waver, but it’s gentle, understanding. He turns his back and reaches for one of the pictures on the wall, he looks at it with soft eyes for a few seconds before giving it to Baekhyun.

He takes it gingerly from Chanyeol, as if he’s afraid it’ll break at any given moment. He looks at the picture and his heart bursts into a million pieces. But maybe, this raw, unforgiving emotion is what he needs.

“Say it, Baek.” Chanyeol passes on the piece of paper to Baekhyun, who sniffles as he holds onto to it tightly.

He throws himself onto Chanyeol’s arms, the familiar smell of him comforting and lovely. He revels in his arms, he revels from the feeling of that white picket fence house, of the feeling it has, of the feeling of Chanyeol and Baekhyun and--

“I’m Baekhyun. My daughter’s name was Nana. She died of Gaucher Disease when she was 4 years old.”

-

“I missed your food,” Baekhyun munches on the scrambled eggs Chanyeol has cooked for them. No stale toast, no expired juice this time. It’s too early for him to be awake, but really, there’s no other place he’d rather be.

“Is this you finally admitting that I’m a great cook?” Chanyeol preens. He looks dumb with crumbs of toast all over his face. Someone ought to finally tell him.

“You look dumb.” Baekhyun says dismissively.

Chanyeol’s grin grows bigger. “You’re the dumb one, Baekhyun.”

“I have a question for you, though.” he continues.

“Ooh, what is it?” Baekhyun sing songs, stealing the last sip of chocolate milk from Chanyeol.

The taller man smirks, “Do you ever miss your old name, Park Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun chokes on his drink, eyes bulging and erupting a cackle out of Chanyeol before a roll of eyes, “No, I’m glad I got my name back, Byun sounds cuter anyways.”

“Are you sure, if I--”

“ _Anyways,_ ” he interrupts him, “I think it’s time for the cake.”

That effectively shuts Chanyeol up who goes, very much like a puppy, to the fridge, collecting a medium sized cake. It’s gooey and cool and it’s not double chocolate--it’s strawberry.

Neither of them like strawberry, but somehow, it’s their favorite.

Baekhyun grabs a packet of candles and places six pink small ones on the cake.

“Happy birthday!” chirps Chanyeol with a birthday serpentine and a heart balloon. He looks at Baekhyun with a squeeze of his hand.

Baekhyun looks back at him, gentle smile on his lips, “Happy birthday, Nana.”

-

**smile flower**

**✿**

Baekhyun looks up at the taller boy sitting in front of him. He’s watched him all week long, it’d be impossible not to. It almost feels as if he’s shining, Baekhyun thinks. It must be the ridiculously big smile.

“So,” he continues with a conspiratorial whisper, grin intact, as if sharing as secret, one that he's willing to shre with Baekhyun. “What’s your name?”

Baekhyun thinks about ignoring the other boy, to just pay attention to what the professor is saying, for once. There’s something in his stomach though, something threatening to bubble up and Baekhyun can’t stop the answer falling from his mouth.

“Byun Baekhyun.” He replies with a hint of an amused smile.

“ _Baekhyun_ ,” the taller of the two repeats, still whispering. “That’s a pretty name. White, pure, good, worthy. That’s what it means, right?  I’m Chanyeol.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at the absurdity of the boy, his smile doesn't waver. “Doesn’t Chanyeol mean _fruit?_ ”

Chanyeol squawks out loud. There’s an echo of silence and a few glares at their direction before the professor scolds them both with a grumble.

Baekhyun can’t help but laugh, a twinkle in his eyes and vibrancy in his smile.

“I have a very important question to ask you, Byun Baekhyun,” Chanyeol ponders seriously, professor quickly forgotten.

Chanyeol swears Baekhyun _radiates_ light. Almost like a star. Something weird and new, deep inside his very core, hopes that light never burns out.

“What’s your favorite color?”

  
//

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the movie collateral beauty, directed by david frankel.
> 
> smile flower - seventeen.
> 
> kudos, comments, constructive criticism are welcome :)
> 
> thank you for reading!


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